


I'm Coming Home

by foggys_cupcake_girl



Category: Justice League (2017), The Batman (Movie 2021)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Cinnamon Roll Oswald Cobblepot, Cuddling & Snuggling, Eating Disorders, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, OT3, Oswald is a Penguin Dad, Penguins, Polyamory, Tenderness, VERY LIGHTLY IMPLIED but there nonetheless, and then his cutiepie partners make him feel better, because author is a wimp, i said what i said, implied fighting/violence but it's all offscreen, srsly this is literally just a bunch of Oswald hating himself, there are some sad penguin feels though be warned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-17 12:02:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28974027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foggys_cupcake_girl/pseuds/foggys_cupcake_girl
Summary: Sometimes Oswald forgets that he's not alone anymore. That he doesn't have to hate himself, suffer alone, or resort to old coping mechanisms.But luckily, his lovers are always there to remind him.
Relationships: Barry Allen/Oswald Cobblepot, Barry Allen/Oswald Cobblepot/Edward Nygma, Oswald Cobblepot/Edward Nygma
Comments: 6
Kudos: 17





	I'm Coming Home

**Author's Note:**

> Heyyyy y'all I'm back with more riddleflashpenguin, couldn't stay away ^_^
> 
> Couple of quickie TWs for this one bbys:  
> 1) ANIMAL DEATH. It's all in summary and we don't actually see any animals being hurt or killed, but Oswald loses some penguins (again, off screen) during a heist. There's some Sad Penguin Feels and of course Oswald feels awful about losing some of his "babies." :'(  
> 2) My HC for canon 2022!Oswald is that his bulk is partly due to binge eating disorder and so yes, in this fic, we do see him binge-eat once. He is later (gently) called out and reminded that he needs to not hurt himself by doing that. Again it's brief and handled gently but it *is* there so be warned.
> 
> Other than that, smooth sailing and enjoy the angsty fluff ;) <3

Sometimes Oswald thinks, _this is not my life._ He knows what’s waiting for him back at his manor. He knows the things he tells himself aren’t true. But on nights like tonight it’s hard, so hard, to actually believe it. Tonight, he runs from a heist gone wrong, wherein he lost 20 penguin soldiers and barely escaped with his own life and the stupid Bat broke the umbrella that his forensic science nerd boyfriend rigged up for him. He’s cold, he’s hungry, he just wants to sleep and forget this day ever happened.

He limps along, alone. He thinks, with tears that he will always deny spilling free and washed away by the rain, of the penguins he lost tonight. They aren’t just his footsoldiers; until he met the people waiting for him at home, they were his only companions. He hates to lose any of them, especially since that goddamn Batman sees them as expendable. He wishes Wonder Woman had come to stop him instead; she always tries to spare the mooks she fights as often as possible. _She_ wouldn’t have hurt his penguins.

Oswald limps to his getaway car and drags himself inside, throws his broken umbrella onto the passenger seat. His leg is bleeding. Something else is bleeding somewhere. He hopes nothing inside is bleeding, because he has no intention of going to a hospital. His chest hurts, heart lurching and tripping against his ribcage, and he has to swallow bile in his throat, the thought of what chest pain usually means making him more anxious. _You’re old. Fucking old. You’re old and fat and sick and one day, forget Batman, you’ll try to fight your way out and your heart will just burst._

He drives home, peeling off his mask and the first layer of his suit on the way. He goes through a McDonald’s drive-thru and orders a 20-piece nugget with two large fries and a 3-pack of chocolate chip cookies. When the chirpy lady on the other end asks if he’d like to try their new Nutella frappucino, he shrugs as if to say resistance is futile and says, _sure honey, what the hell, why not._

The girl at the window can’t be older than Barry. She has braces and a pink streak in her hair and when he hands over his credit card she flashes him a bright grin and folds up the collar of her regulation polo, showing the two-year-old _Cobblepot for mayor!_ pin underneath. “My parents love you,” she says happily. “They say you’re gonna fix this rotten town right up.”

“I haven’t yet, but we’ll see, won’t we,” he replies with a fake smile. “You in college, honey?”

“Yeah, second year at Gotham U. Studying poli-sci myself,” she says as she swipes his card. “I wanna be a lawyer. Or a senator. Or maybe president.”

Second year. So she is nineteen, twenty at most. He almost laughs. He remembers being that old. Jaded already, thinking _no one is ever going to want me._ He’d seen the way his parents sneered at _hired boys_ and insisted that anyone who made minimum wage didn’t deserve to eat. He remembers thinking how much he hated them, not because he was a bleeding-heart, just because they were so easy to hate. It was his mother who would hide food from him when she saw he was getting fat, his father who would rag on him _at least work out if you’re going to eat like a pig._

He was nineteen when he hired a prostitute for the first time. It was also, coincidentally, the first time he had sex. It was, finally and most importantly, the day he realized that people will do what you want if you have money and are willing to share it.

She hands him his food with a giant smile, thanking him for his recent law (which has _nothing_ to do with his parents’ jackassery at all, no sir) that every big chain business with a franchise in Gotham _must_ offer its employees healthcare and college, and slips him an extra pack of cookies. He responds by slipping her a $100 bill and drives off with the sound of her tearful exclamations of gratitude ringing in his ears.

There was a time when he would’ve propositioned her. _What time do you get off, honey?_ Let her get flustered at the idea of sleeping with the mayor. Maybe dangled another $100 as extra incentive. He imagines the look on her face, the obvious disgust for his looks at odds with the promise of money and power if she does what he wants.

She wouldn’t be the first he tried to bribe into a night of passion. Not even the fiftieth. He’s not wanted for sex since he came into his own. But all of it was fake. He didn’t know men even could fake orgasms until the night he hired a male prostitute for the first time (gotta try all the flavors before you decide which ice cream is your favorite, right?) and learned that not only can men fake orgasms but that even professionals are terribly obvious about it.

But he also learned that night he loves fucking men, so. Not a total loss, he supposes.

Oswald drives to the lake and parks by the edge, watching the rain hit the surface of the water as he eats. He doesn’t have to do this, really. There are people in his manor now who will happily cook for him if he asks. But there’s something inherently comforting about the taste of hot, fatty, disgustingly good McDonald’s food, something soothing about the familiarity of the classic french fries.

Gorging on unhealthy food isn’t his only source of pleasure or reassurance. Not anymore. But it’s still a tried-and-true method of self-soothing and tonight he needs every drop of comfort he can get. It’s late and cold and he knows that back at home is everything he wanted his whole life. But it’s hard to face them on nights like this, when he’s failed and he knows it.

He throws his trash out in the park and drives home. It’s almost one AM. He’ll be very surprised if anyone is awake. It’s been five years since he met one of his partners and two since they brought the other into the fold, and it still somehow startles him when he sees there is a light on, as if someone is waiting for him. Someone _is_ waiting for him, and it gives him a little boost.

He stops, briefly, when he enters through the front door and sees his reflection in the gilded mirror by the stairs. The scars. The pitted skin. The misshapen face. The thinning hair, plastered to his head by rain. The blood streaked down his face that leaked through his mask. He looks as old and damaged as he feels.

_This is what they see when they look at you._

He throws down his broken umbrella, bypasses the stairs and goes straight out the back door. He’s not ready to face them yet.

The grass is soggy with rain, the sky dark, the air heavy. Oswald tramps across the grounds to the gazebo, sits on the bench lining the wall and looks around. When he first moved in after his parents died, he cared nothing about the house and it showed. Within a few months the yard was a scraggly mess, the gazebo about to crumble, bricks and shingles missing from the house, the garage, the guesthouse, the poolhouse. The pool was a swamp. The yard furniture rusted where it sat. The fire pit was a fire hazard. Looking at all of it reminded Oswald of his childhood, which he’d hated, his teen years, which had been achingly lonely, and many home trips in college where he had been scolded and ignored and his status as “forever alone” constantly lamented.

But now the pool gleams, the yard is immaculate, the landscaping elaborate and pretty. He looks at the pool and remembers teaching Barry, who once desperately feared drowning, to swim and dive. He looks at the glass-walled poolhouse and remembers the time Ed gave him a striptease for no reason other than he _could,_ illuminated by the glow of a beautiful sunset. He looks at the grass and remembers when Ed first came to live with him, how his insatiable new lover would wait until night had just barely fallen to drag him outside, roast marshmallows on the fire pit, and then passionately make love in the grass, sharing sticky kisses and getting chocolate in hard-to-reach places.

And he looks at the gazebo, where he sits now, and remembers that when Barry first came home with him and Ed, he was afraid to be alone with them. He was afraid they would hurt him, because he was a hero and they were enemies of the Justice League. He remembers the way all but two of the JL, Wonder Woman and Cyborg, turned on Barry and voted to kick him off the team. He remembers the way the younger man clung to him, crying into his shoulder _(they were the closest thing to a family I had)_ and he remembered Ed’s tender answer _(we’re your family now, little sparkplug…we’ve got you)._

There are so many memories in this yard that he never thought he’d have. So many in that _house_ that he thought he’d never have. He still remembers the first time he and Ed slept together. He remembers offering the younger man money afterwards, and the way Ed just _looked_ at him, utterly confused. _What the hell would I want this for…I don’t need money Ozzie, I don’t kill guys like Falcone because they got money. Stop it. No, I’m mad at you now, get busy making it up to me._

(Making it up to him turned out to be another round, culminating in staying the night. Easiest bargain Oswald ever made.)

He gets to his feet and trudges back to the house, strips off his soaked jacket and sodden shoes at the door. Most of the lights are off. He goes downstairs in the dark. No need to worry about being able to see. He knows this house so well he could navigate it blindfolded and drunk.

The penguin habitat is in perfect order. Ed, of course; he loves the penguin footsoldiers almost as much as Oswald does. They all wake up and come over, flapping and excited, when he comes downstairs. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, reaching out and letting them all crowd around them. “I’m sorry. Your brothers and sisters aren’t with me…I’m sorry.”

The little heads bow. They all know. He doesn’t cry in front of them, doesn’t like them to see it. He repeats apologies, pats each one in turn, gives them extra fish. He makes sure to tell them all, one by one, that he loves them before he goes upstairs to his partners.

The master suite is dark and cool, and Oswald shivers as he hurries into the bathroom, strips out of his damp clothes and rubs himself down with a towel. He doesn’t bother with pajamas, just pulls on dry boxers. When he comes out of the bathroom he has to stop and look, because the sight before him is just too damn lovely to not take a moment to appreciate it.

Barry is sprawled out on his back, silky dark hair fanned out across the pillow, his soft lips puffing out in a sweet little pout with each breath. He’s so thin as to actually look fragile, and even though Oswald knows it’s not true, knows too well about the lightning that struck his boy and runs in his veins to power his inhuman speed abilities, he still can’t swallow the instinct to hold, cover, _protect._

On the other side of the bed, Edward lies curled up like a baby, his face only half-visible where it’s pressed in the pillow. He too looks more vulnerable in his sleep, baby-soft blond hair in feathery disarray, long lashes fluttering against the plump curve of his cheek. Ed has such lovely full cheeks with high cheekbones, leading into a delicate, elfin-pointed chin. He looks so tender in sleep it’s hard to remember he’s a serial killer, and a damn good one at that.

They’re lovely, and his heart flutters at the sight of them, all laid out there just for him. But what absolutely melts Oswald into a puddle is that they’ve carefully left him the perfect-sized space between the two of them.

He crawls into bed and kneels between them. He’ll wake Ed first, he decides; Ed is jealous and easily hurt and it won’t do for him to think he’s being ignored. “Hey, my precious little one,” he whispers, reaching out to stroke a pale cheek.

Ed’s eyes flutter open. “Heya, Ozzie,” he murmurs sleepily. “Didja get what you were after?”

“Not this time. But it’s all right. Just wanted you to see I’m home and safe.” He turns to Barry, already rolling over to see him. Barry’s a light sleeper. “Hi, sweetheart,” he greets his superpowered boyfriend. “You can go back to sleep. It’s okay.”

He’s aching for their company, would love nothing more than to sit up with them, hear their voices, bathe in the comfort of their presence. But they’re both sleepy and he shouldn’t be selfish. He can be selfish in business meetings, in fights with Batman, in his evil plots to take over Gotham and remake it to suit him. But he can’t be selfish with Barry and Ed. Never with them. He loves them too much for that.

But they both notice something is wrong, and Ed’s really awake now, sitting up and reaching out to him. “Ozzie? Baby, you’ve got blood on your face,” he points out, reaching up to touch the dried blood that rain has streaked down his cheek. “Not that it doesn’t look hot, but…are you okay?”

“No, he’s not,” Barry says, fully awake now and sitting up. “What happened?”

Oswald sighs and lets himself grip first Ed’s hand, then Barry’s. With each of them clinging to one of his hands it’s easier to talk, and he says softly, “Bats showed up and it got ugly. I made it out. But…” He swallows hard. “But the penguins I took with me didn’t.”

Barry looks stricken. Ed claps a hand over his mouth, a soft sob escaping, and Oswald tugs his hand free so he can wrap an arm around his shoulders, drawing him in for a gentle cuddle. Barry lays down, his head resting on Oswald’s knee. “I’m so sorry,” he says quietly. “How many?”

“Twenty.” Ed cries again, and Oswald runs a comforting arm up and down his back. “I know, pet. I know. It hurts me too.”

Barry snuggles up closer, the top of his head pressing against Oswald’s substantial belly. “Can we do anything?” he offers sweetly, and Oswald’s heart melts all over again. “Do you want any food or coffee or whatever?”

“No, sweetheart. I’m all right.” Oswald almost laughs at Barry’s _yeah right_ look. “Really, just need a little rest. Just a bit of time with you two. That’ll help.”

“Mmm. Okay.” Barry stretches up for a kiss that Oswald grants without thought…and immediately regrets when Barry pulls back with a pained look on his face. “You ate at McDonald’s, didn’t you.”

Ed whines a little and sits up. “Ozzie, no,” he pouts. “You aren’t supposed to…how much did you eat?”

Right. Oswald is not supposed to be “sneaking off” to eat. Not according to Dr. Tomkins. That falls directly under the heading of _bingeing,_ which he is not supposed to be doing. “It wasn’t that much,” he starts, and then when they both look at him he sighs and admits, “Twenty nuggets, two large fries, six cookies, some kind of chocolate frozen drink.”

Barry gives him a soft, wounded look. “That bad, huh?” He reaches up and strokes Oswald’s cheek. “I’m sorry, Os. Must’ve been really hurting.” He sits up and crawls into Oswald’s lap, pressing his lips to his pitted cheek. “Please let us help,” he whispers.

Ed snuggles in close and kisses his other cheek just as Barry kisses him on the mouth, slow and open and messy, and Oswald moans into the kiss while Ed drags just-sharp-enough nails down his back. It feels good to be touched, to have the reminder that they like him, they _want_ him.

He lets them push him on his back, grunting a little as the wind is knocked out of him. Barry enthusiastically attacks his neck with kisses, while Ed makes a meal of touching and nuzzling his belly. “You know how much I love this sexy tummy of yours,” he croons into the soft, hairy skin, making Oswald shiver with pleasure. Then, in a slightly sharper voice, the one usually reserved for his kills, he adds, “So _treat it nicely._ No stuffing. No making yourself sick. Understand?”

Oswald starts to say he understands, but then Barry jolts and within the blink of an eye he and Ed are both naked, and Barry is crawling into Oswald’s arms and curling around him, drawing one of Oswald’s knees up to his side to make room. Ed giggles in delight as Oswald automatically closes his arms around the speedster. “Are you sure,” he begins, and Barry cuts him off.

 _“I_ get you first tonight,” he says, and the rare possessive display from his usually-gentle boyfriend _does things_ to Oswald, and he’s only too happy to lay his head back in Ed’s waiting lap (“I love this, Ozzie, I got a front-row seat!”) as things progress to decidedly less G-rated territory.

Afterwards he lays splayed on his back, Ed tucked under one arm and Barry nestled comfortably in the other. Barry’s already asleep; he passes out quickly after making love because he always uses so much energy, using his speed powers to make it good for all three of them. “Baby, can we kill someone tomorrow?” Ed whispers into the crook of his neck. “Like, preferably someone Batman likes?”

“Thinking of the penguins?” Oswald says, and Ed nods against his shoulder. “Of course we can, little one.”

“Mmm. ’Kay.” Ed yawns as he settles down, already well on the way to sleeping again. “You take such good care of us,” he slurs, and then the next thing Oswald hears is a soft little snore.

He would lie awake, usually, like he does after sex, thinking of how he wasn’t supposed to get this. Because tough grizzled men like him do _not_ get this; he’s still not entirely sure how he ended up with two lithe, pretty little lovers at his beck and call, who worship his body with tender care and whisper the sweetest things to him, gentle words he is sure he doesn’t deserve _(we love you, please stay, you’re so good, so handsome, don’t stop, we need you, we need you, we need you Os you’re everything)._

He doesn’t know what he did to deserve this. But right now he’s too at ease, still full from his illicit meal earlier and now made sleepy from sex and relaxed from the sweet aftercare, and now he just wants to rest. Just wants to hold onto this good thing a little longer, because he doesn’t deserve it and he knows it, but for now he’s got it, and as long as these two want him, he’s going to love them with everything he’s got.

**Author's Note:**

> Love Riddlebird, Flash, Colin Farrell, Ezra Miller, Paul Dano, or any combo of the above? Come geek out with me on Twitter or Tumblr @CupcakeFoggy ^_^


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